


Sway

by walking_through_autumn



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_through_autumn/pseuds/walking_through_autumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They seem to be saying something as they keep stepping in the same pattern, until they finally stop and just…sway. Like the willow swaying in the breeze, when Eren and Mikasa and he had played by the river as children." </p>
<p>Armin finds an old film reel. Eren and Mikasa find him. </p>
<p>Written as a response to a SnK Kink Meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sway

It took time, but camaraderie comes easier as days slip into nights and they wake, together, to see the darkness giving way to sunrise, blinking away sweat on their tenth round around the training grounds. It’s something new to have people looking out for each other, other people looking out for him, not just Eren and Mikasa. Sometimes Armin feels grateful, and other times he just feels overwhelmed.

Days slip into nights and the hours tick away and he catches himself wondering whether there’s anything more to life than the thought of going out into the titan-infested world, of seeing Eren’s and Mikasa’s faces light up when they smell the salt of the sea. He feels guilty afterwards, because Eren’s eyes are always focused, driven, and Armin is the first one who was so excited about the outside world, but sometimes he just wants to shut himself away from the world, away from the sheer number of people, sleep and pretend everything had been one long, never-ending nightmare.

But he has ways to deal with it. They all do, in these days of endless training. He slips away after dinner while Eren and Mikasa head to the baths. It’s the precious free time they have before lights out, and the library becomes his sanctuary, undisturbed by the other cadets. Sometimes he searches for anything to do with titans, anything that might improve their chances of survival.

Sometimes he stumbles across other things. Fairytales which he tucks away in his mind to tell Eren on a quiet night when both of them can’t fall asleep. Eren likes to roll his eyes and tell Armin he’s no longer a kid, but he listens anyway until he falls asleep, and Armin follows afterwards, hands curled near Eren’s in the space between their bunk beds. Tales of mythical gods, gods of water and fire and wisdom. He thinks maybe Eren is blessed by the god of fire, untamed and fierce, and Mikasa the god of water, placid with a strong, mysterious undercurrent. He likes to think maybe he has the wisdom needed to help them, and the thought never fails to make him smile, hopeful.

He lets his fingers drift across the spines of dusty books, and when he notices an odd gap behind some of the books he pulls them out. Raising the candlelight, he blinks when he finds reels, as dusty as the books that have covered them. Armin places the books aside carefully before pulling out the reels. Covered in a thick layer of dust, the black surface gives only a faint glimmer in the light.

He knows what they are. Anybody who lived in Wall Maria had not been able to afford them, but these are the entertainment for the rich, those who lived lives of peace within Wall Sina.

_Films_ , his grandfather had said with a gentle smile. He had placed his hand on Armin’s head as Armin bent over the book, trying to understand what the device was.

He tests the word out on his tongue, recalls his grandfather’s murmur. There’s not many of them, and they have unrecognizable titles. But any literature is precious to him. He can’t fight, he can’t run, the only thing he has is his brains, and this will be his nourishment. He picks them up and carries them over to another dusty corner, where there’s a screen that must have been used for lectures once before they all moved over to a larger, cleaner hall. The equipments leaning against the wall look forlorn in the dim candlelight.

It works for his purposes. Armin squints and finds the equipment for the film reels. He coughs as the dust catches in his windpipe, but he’s had worse during training, he thinks, threading the reel in the correct part. Electricity is precious enough as it is, but his curiosity wins over.

_That’s the thing about you_ , Eren had said once with a grin. It was an expression so rare on him that Armin had stared for a while. Next to him, Mikasa had quietly looked on, leaning against Armin’s shoulder.

_What thing?_

_You seem like such a good boy, then you go and say and do stuff those adults wouldn’t dare think_ , Eren had said, a look of slight distaste on his face when he recalled their humiliation. Mankind’s humiliation at their entrapment. _You’ve got a mean streak, don’t you, Armin?_

Armin had snorted then and shook his head. Mikasa shifted and leant more fully against him, still watching Eren with a small smile on her face. _We’ve known each other for how long already, Eren?_

Eren grins again. When he smiles like that it’s like he’s a different person. It’s like they were in a different world. _The instructors will never know what hit them._

He hardly thinks this is what Eren had in mind when he egged on Armin’s rebellious streak. Armin shrugs and realizes, in his reminiscing, that he had managed to connect the film to the screen.

At first, there is nothing. What little there had been written in the books he remembers, so even if he’s not adept at these machinery, he’s sure it’s not a connection problem. Then the screen fizzles.

And it fizzles. And it keeps fizzling.

Armin squashes the disappointment in him. He sits there for a few minutes, watching the screen, the wax on the candle dripping and collecting at the bottom. He likes to think he doesn’t give up easily, but he does not have much time left, and it is only when he decides to take out the film and declare it as a lost cause when he manages to see, very faintly, the outline of images on the screen.

Armin stops moving, squints, tries to make out the images on the screen. Behind the fuzzy gray lines he thinks he can make out the shape of…were they people? They seemed to be wearing clothes far too nice for it to be a product of their times. With a lurch of his heart, Armin waits for the screen to stop fizzling, and when the screen finally clears enough for him to make out the scene, he knew with certainty. It was a product from before the titans appeared.

_How did it survive? Why was it in the library? What is it about?_ He hears his grandfather chide him to take it one question at a time. His mind races, but he focuses on the last question, trying to figure out what the people are doing. They seem like a couple, Armin thinks, because they are standing very close to each other, and the girl is wearing what seems like layers and layers of cloth, making her look larger than she actually is. Armin supposes they could afford the impracticality when there hadn’t been a need to run away from titans and survive on the little land there was. Eren would have fumed at the thought of such extravagance, Armin thinks and chuckles.

But beyond the sheer impracticality of their clothes, they are moving in a strange way, Armin thinks. The girl’s head on the guy’s shoulder, as she steps left, to the back, to the right, to the front…only to repeat it all. Armin watches, puzzled, eyes wide. They seem to be saying something as they keep stepping in the same pattern, until they finally stop and just…sway. Like the willow swaying in the breeze, when Eren and Mikasa and he had played by the river as children.

The screen fizzles out, and without thinking it through he places a hand against the machine and rewinds it, moving on instinct, on a quiet desperation of needing to see this again. This thing removed from titans and blood and nightmares. This product of peace.

He doesn’t know how long he had been sitting there, surrounded by clouds of dust and the low, flickering light of a candle, watching that strange dance and the sway of two people, until he hears a cough. He would have jumped – he wasn’t the one who coughed – but the voice is familiar, and the hands tugging at him even more so.

“How did you find me?” he says in a low voice. He follows Eren’s hands, unresisting, and stands up.

“Where else would you be?” Mikasa answers, equally quiet. The tread of her feet is silent, even at this distance.

He cannot see Eren – his eyes are still on the screen, and Eren is behind him – but they are close enough for him to smell the soap from the shower and the faint whiff of grass. Eren always smells like grass. It must be from all the times he had dozed in the fields. Armin feels Eren’s hands, warm and sure, slip around his waist.

And then they are swaying.

Armin closes his eyes, following the movement, remembering the willow, light and fluttering with the wind. But Eren’s hands are not the branches of the willow. They root him to the ground and they are moving slow, slow, slower than anything they’ve been doing up till now. They’ve been running, eating, bathing, learning, sleeping, as the hours go by and they age without realizing it. Armin feels another hand at his hip, and Eren is stepping aside just enough for Mikasa to be breathing in the same, dusty air. His one hand is curled around Armin’s waist and the other on the small of Mikasa’s back, and Armin keeps his eyes closed as they sway.

It’s warm, this air among them, as Eren breathes in and Mikasa out and Armin tries to steady himself against them. Eren steps a little too close and Mikasa a little too far out and they stumble, regain their balance just as quickly, and Armin opens his eyes. He catches the rare, sheepish look in Eren’s eyes as he mouths an apology, and Mikasa is smiling, eyes soft, cheekbones highlighted in the play of candlelight and shadow.

He pulls them both closer and they stumble again onto another patch of dust. Eren huffs and Armin giggles before nuzzling at Eren’s cheek in apology. He has lost the round cheeks of his childhood and is looking more like a soldier everyday. Armin noses along his cheek, brushing lips against skin, trying to recall when Eren’s eyes were brighter, less guarded. Mikasa unhooks her arm from Armin’s waist to place her hand on Armin’s cheek, and Armin turns and touches his forehead against hers. Mikasa had always been their rock, steady, hidden warmth in her dark eyes.

It’s been too long since they’ve done this, just be together. He remembers warm afternoons when they huddled under their tree, marveling over the pages of a book. He remembers the first time he saw Mikasa smile – Eren had told him the story, matter-of-fact, no regret, and he wonders what it’s like to kill a man and finally be able to smile again. He remembers, afraid, that Eren and Mikasa are going to leave him behind, but Eren always turns and tugs at him to follow, to run beside them.

“Hey,” Eren breathes, and Armin turns so that Eren can brush his lips against him, barely a kiss, just a touch of comfort. “Hey, Armin.”

“Yeah?” Armin says. It’s instinct, natural, a conversation they’ve had a thousand times before.

Eren looks at him, looks at Mikasa, before he shakes his head slowly. Mikasa hugs him closer, and it’s a miracle they don’t stumble again.

“It’s nothing,” Eren says.

It’s never nothing with Eren, Armin thinks, but he understands. He squeezes Eren close and whispers, “Yeah.”

He thinks it’ll be alright if this night slips into day, as the screen fizzles in and out and they sway, making marks in the dust. 


End file.
